


Collecting Debts

by dyingpoet



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Era, Drug Dealing, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 10:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: The Shepard's don't front for anybody, but Dallas manages to find his way around that rule, and Tim comes to collect.
Relationships: Tim Shepard/Dallas Winston
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9





	Collecting Debts

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil drabble for the writers block <3

If you lived on the east side of Tulsa for enough time and ever tried to get your hands on some grass, you probably worked a few things out pretty quick. First, if you didn’t want to risk any cash on the gutter shit a few kids sold out behind the football field at Will Rogers, half-stem and a fifty-fifty chance you were getting something laced, you knew to buy from Tim or Curly Shepard. Second, the Shepard’s don’t front for anybody, and you’d probably get shorted or ripped off just for asking, if you ever tried. 

Dallas had a funny way of talking his way around that second bit though, at least with Curly. Try anything silver tongued around Tim and he’d sock you just as soon as the younger would fork over the dime bag without so much as a quarter paid upfront. And sure, Dallas knew Curly probably caught some serious shit from Tim everytime Dallas managed to get a gram or two without any cash on hand, but it was too fun watching Tim get his hackles all raised over it, and he always got a good fight out of the guy before he paid up. 

Anyone besides Dallas would’ve gotten knifed by the oldest Shepard by then, Tim wasn’t a real patient guy, but he’d always been partial to Dallas - if only for lack of a better word, he’d never known what to call what Tim had ever felt for him, if anything - so he settled for a fair fight most times and both of them walked off bloody, debt settled. 

Dallas also thought half the fun was making Tim run all over town trying to track him down, so when he finally caught up with him out behind Buck’s three days after he scammed the younger Shepard brother he nearly smiled. It came off more like baring his teeth though, sharp like an animal’s around the filter of one of his last Kools, and boy if Tim wasn’t just about snarling back. 

“Gettin’ real sick and tired of beatin’ yer ass for stealin’ from me, real tired Dally.”

He reeked in that way cheap dark liquor did, and it was rolling off his breath enough that Dallas could tell he was buzzed at least from a good ten feet away. Tim had never been one to get blitzed before a fight, he said once before that it just made you throw more hits and land less, and Dallas considered just handing the money over straight away for a moment to keep things fair. He ran his mouth anyway, while he made up his mind. 

“I didn’t  _ steal _ nothin’, Curly just did me a real fine favor, that’s all,'' Dallas replied easily. He’d managed to remember a good few times Tim had bruised him up pretty bad when he was off his ass drunk and the idea of getting even for those sounded pretty good. “Didn’t exactly put a gun to his head.”

Right then was normally when Tim would’ve swung, he had a way of catching you at the end of a sentence since jawing off before a fight really ticked him off, which Dallas knew. But he didn’t throw a punch, and instead he was looking at Dallas real funny, like he was really figuring something hard, and it occurred to Dallas that Tim might be more than buzzed. The tension in his lean frame that usually came before a fight wasn’t there, and he’d leaned up against the wall Dallas was on, shoulders sagging. 

“Do a little too much there, Tim?”

“Just gimme the goddamn money Dal,” Tim snapped, “I ain’t fuckin’ my face up again just ‘cause you like screwin’ with my kid brother and playin’ games with scratch.”

The venom in his voice was surprising, and Dallas made the mistake of blinking for a few seconds in surprise instead of shooting something back, and Tim just snorted and shoved himself off the wall. He just sort of, walked away and it took Dallas another second to realize Tim really wasn’t picking a fight this time. 

“Jesus Tim, fine, just fucking take it.”

He slammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the few crumpled bills, slamming them into Tim’s hand, who’d stopped when he’d spoken. It had cleared out behind Buck’s a little after Tim showed up, most people knew better than to hang around him in a foul mood, and Dallas was acutely aware of the quiet. Crickets sure, and the low hum of music coming out from under the door of the bar, but it was  _ quiet _ . Idly he realized he could see his breath. Tim wasn’t wearing a jacket, just in a black tee shirt and jeans, liquor stench still hanging off him. 

Sort of sorry sight, actually. Dallas’ skin was still itching for a fight though, and he wouldn’t shake it now until he got one, so he didn’t feel much in the way of sympathy for the other greaser. A year or so ago maybe it would’ve been different, now he was just curious. It was sort of like a room he hadn’t quite emptied, the way he felt about Tim most times. It didn’t serve much purpose anymore, but he couldn’t just leave it, treat it like it was half-there. 

“What’s yer fuckin’ problem anyway, huh, Tim?” Dallas finally spat out, gesturing wildly while Tim tracked him with his eyes. “Ya-ya come here askin’ fer a goddamn fight, blitzed off your ass and actin’ like you  _ don’t _ want one, an’-an’ now what, ya got yer money, just beat it man. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

It was a damn bold thing to say, especially considering Tim came here collecting, but it came tumbling out anyway. Harsh, harsher than he meant to, honestly, but it always came out like that when he was blowing off steam. And fuckin’ Shepard was still just  _ standing _ there, looking at him like he wasn’t quite sure he was finished. Like there was a script somewhere, a pause written down.

Dallas spit at the ground and pulled out a cigarette when he couldn’t stand it anymore. The lighter he flicked out was Tim’s, actually, and the older greaser finally spoke up in comment. 

“You still usin’ my lighter?”

“No it’s a paperweight.” Dallas exhaled a deep drag, watching the smoke for a moment before refocusing on Tim. “What, you want it back or somethin’?”

He wouldn’t have given it over even if Tim did ask, he was still keyed up, probably would’ve fault tooth and nail over the stupid thing. Barely worked anymore anyways.

Tim shook his head though and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nah, just didn’t figure you one for keepin’ things.”

Dallas grimaced around his smoke at the comment. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t, just didn’t see any sense in trashin’ a good lighter s’all.”

Tim hummed. “Fair deal, I still got that swiss army knife’a yers.”

“Man  _ you _ got that?” Dallas sputtered, then cursed as the ash from his smoke fell down and onto his shirt. He hissed and shook out his shirt, choosing to ignore Tim who must’ve thought it looked pretty damn funny on account of he was nearly smiling. He was switching up moods too much too fast and it was throwing Dallas off his game. “Been lookin’ over a year for the thing, had the lift all the shit that comes on it back from the store, and  _ you _ got it?

Nearly smiling, “Yup, you want it back?”

“Nah.”

Dallas finished his smoked and ground the filter up hard under his boots, the sound grating at his ears, it was still quiet. When he looked up Tim was about a foot closer and eyes a shade darker. A brief, fleeting wish that the boy had just broken his nose and left him bloodied, limping up the stairs afterwards and taping up his ribs and face in a dirty mirror. He cleared his throat before speaking, not really sure why he was at all, boredom maybe. Something to do. Something else. 

“You need a place to crash?”

Smiling now, Tim looked nearly wild. A realization, a click, and Dallas’ skin was itching again. “Well c’mon then.”

Tim clapped a hand on his shoulder as they headed for the door and it landed like a rock, ice cold and stiff from the chill outside. A room never quite emptied. Tim’s hand dropped from his shoulder the second he threw open the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> ayyy never written this pairing before lmao i cant tell how i feel about the style of this yet but i hope yall enjoyed!!
> 
> kudos/comments are always appreciated so p l e a s e drop one if u can 💖if u got any prompts u can hmu in the comments or on tumblr @staticky ✨✨


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